


Misc Hobbit Birthday Fics

by Thorinsmut



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Multi, One-Shots, imported as tumblr takes a swan dive, so many little fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2019-09-17 01:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16964763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: Every year, I celebrated my birthday in the hobbitish way by giving little gifts away on my tumblr blog. Many of the prompts were hobbit-themed.Now you may read the rare pairs and odd snippets in one convenient place!





	1. Lady Kili, Ori, and a picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure ladykili-daughterofdis knew who they were talking to when they made their request, because I have an amazing lack of artistic ability, but I tried my best.
> 
> The prompt was: a pic of Lady Kili and Ori?
> 
> There is Lady Kili, Ori, and a picture.

“Hold _still_ Kili!” Ori pleaded, as Kili _once again_ changed her stance. “I can’t draw you if you keep moving!”

“My arm was getting sore!” she complained, drawing her bow back. “This is killing my fingers, you know.”

Ori sighed, looking at the half-finished sketch of a pose only marginally similar to the one Kili was now in.

“I _tried_ to get you to choose a more sensible pose.” He said, starting a new sketch.

“It’s _my_ birthday.” Kili said, “I want my birthday drawing to be _awesome_.” She moved yet again, throwing her hair over her shoulder and aiming her bow toward something in the air.

Ori sighed again, wishing he’d never volunteered to draw a birthday portrait for Lady Kili.


	2. bilbo/bofur birthday morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nowitsaparty and happiness-in-a-hat requested boffins

“It’s my birthday,” Bilbo whispered, the warm morning light just beginning to light the windows of Bag End.

“Oh, aye, I know,” Bofur answered sleepily, giving him a soft kiss and pulling him into his strong arms for a snuggle. “What would you like for your birthday present?” he asked.

Bilbo snuggled in close, kissing lightly at Bofur’s hairy chest. “Hobbits don’t _get_ presents on our birthdays, we _give_ them.” he said, beginning to kiss his way downward.

“Bilbo are you… oh yes! Hardly seems _fair_ … mmm!” Bofur ended in a happy moan.

Bilbo moaned back, just as happy.

This was going to be an _excellent_ birthday.


	3. Nethanu and Dori - Nethanu's Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nethanu the elf appeared in Axes and Knives:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/48821
> 
> shitsuren-chama wanted to hear how he was doing.

**Nethanu’s Birthday**

1- wake up in a warm bed that is longer and wider than a Dwarf bed and lower to the ground than an Elf bed.

2- cuddles with the strongest, sweetest, kindest, handsomest Dwarf in Erebor, Middle Earth, or _anywhere_.

3- make breakfast together with said Dwarf.

4- run off to work.

5- cook for the Mirkwood ambassadors. Ignore them as much as possible.

6- sneak in baking a few batches of berry tarts for the tea shop.

7- run home to change.

8- meet Dori at the tea shop, ready to work.

9- do _not_ cry just because they all remembered your birthday.

10- sit on the cushion and sip your favorite tea to compose yourself.

11- accept the presents and hugs.

12- blush at the dirty jokes.

13- refuse to stay on the cushion. Help Dori. _Someone_ has to gather up the cups!

14- send away the last of the customers.

15- walk home with Dori.

16- snuggle together in the kitchen eating leftover tarts and drinking wine.

17- drink probably too much wine.

18- giggle when Ori is embarrassed at seeing you snuggling with his brother. Refuse to give Dori his tunic back.

19- to bed for cuddles with the strongest, sweetest, kindest handsomest most wonderful Dwarf who ever was.

20- go to sleep in a warm bed that is longer and wider than a Dwarf bed, and lower to the ground than an Elf bed.


	4. Ri bros unsuccessful cake making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thecutestscribeoferebor requested: Nori trying to make a birthday cake for one of his brothers, with or without success?

Nori had the recipe – all written out in their Amad’s delicate looping handwriting. He had the ingredients. He had the tools. He had Ori to assist him – his hair all braided up out of the way, a very serious expression on his face, and a too-big apron tied around his waist.

It couldn’t go wrong, really. Dori managed to bake cakes all the time, and if _Dori_ could do it it _must_ be easy.

“Ready?” he asked, and Ori grinned, showing off his missing baby teeth.

“Ready!” he answered, banging on the edge of the bowl with a wooden spoon in his excitement.

“Shh, shh…” Nori hushed him, “We don’t want Dori to wake up! He had enough trouble falling asleep, and he has to sleep to get better…”

Ori nodded, big brown eyes very serious, and they began their assault.

.

“Does that say two or three eggs?” Nori asked Ori. Their Amad’s handwriting was beautiful, but not always the easiest to read.

Ori tilted his head to the side, pondering it deeply, before shrugging.

“Well, we’d better go with three.” Nori decided, “We don’t want to use too few…”

.

“Wait… was that two or three scoops of flour?” Nori asked.

Ori shrugged, dumping another scoop in.

eh… it should be fine.

.

“No more.” Ori said, holding only half the amount of sugar the recipe asked for.

“Aww, it’ll be fine.” Nori assured him, dumping it in and vigorously mixing it into the batter in the bowl. It was looking a little _different_ from when Dori made it, but it should be fine. He’d just have to stir it until it stopped being so ropey and went smooth like Dori’s cake batters.

“We’ll just add some honey.” Nori decided, “That’s sweet!” Nori’d never cooked anything that didn’t benefit from a little improvisation. Baking couldn’t be all that different, could it?

“Mmm, honey cakes.” Ori agreed, and ran to grab the honey.

.

The cake looked a little _different_ , in the pan, but it should be fine. Nori carefully placed it in the heated oven and turned back toward the kitchen.

How did it never get this messy when _Dori_ baked cakes?

Well… at least he had Ori to help.

“I bet I can clear off and wipe down _that_ side of the counter before you wipe down _this_ one.” Nori challenged.

“Nah!” Ori said, grabbing a rag and attacking his side with a vengeance.

.

Ori and Nori sat and pondered the… 'cake’ was too kind a word for it. Nori hesitantly prodded at the lopsided, volcanic looking object.

It was… sticky to the touch. And rock-hard. And kind of burnt, but Nori had been too busy having a suds-war with Ori while washing the dishes to check on it.

“You know,” He said, brushing ineffectively at Ori’s flour-dusted and suds-soaked messy braids. “I heard Bombur’s back cooking at the Skinned Hare…”

Ori brightened hopefully at that, and Nori smiled as he continued.

“I’ll bet he has jam tarts, or fruit turnovers, or sweet biscuits…” He mused. Bombur was famous for his desserts, “And we could have some of his gravy pies for dinner.” Nobody made a gravy pie quite like _Bombur_.

“but… Dori doesn’t like when you take me there,” Ori said, his eyes pleading, _begging_ to be convinced.

“Poor Dori.” Nori sighed, then brightened, “We could bring him back some of Bombur’s noodle soup, you know how much he loves that! Some nice warm soup would help him get better… and it’ll be nice and quiet for him to rest while we’re gone…”

“It _would,_ ” Ori agreed, grinning as he ran to grab his jacket. He squeaked as Nori scooped him up on the way past, settling the Dwarfling firmly on his shoulders as they ducked out the door and away.

.

Ori grinned at his plates, a big plate-sized gravy pie and another of jelly-centered pinwheel cookies, tucked into the quiet corner of the tavern while Nori guarded him with a bright-edged smile and a knife between his fingers to warn everyone off.

“This is the _best_ birthday _ever_ …” Ori sighed, leaning against Nori’s side and taking a cookie even though he hadn’t had his pie yet… like _Nori_ was going to call him on that.

“Anything for you, kid.” Nori answered with a grin.

…just as long as he _never_ had to bake a cake again.

.


	5. Bilbo/Dwalin, cabbage patch hobbits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heartshapedkey requested: Bilbo/Dwalin -- hobbits grow their babies in the garden and Bilbo finds an accidental baby in his one day? please?
> 
> This one made me giggle when I got the prompt, and I'm still fond of it now.

There was no denying what it _was_. Nothing else grew quite like that.

“Oh dear.” Bilbo said, sitting down sharply. He hesitantly crawled forward to inspect the little rosette of leaves – bit like a cabbage – that could only be the beginnings of a baby.

It was unlike any he’d ever seen, a deeper green almost fading to black on the ribs of the leaves, and he’d certainly _never_ seen one with spiked leaf edges.

That would be the Dwarven influence, he supposed, as well as it choosing to grow in the shaded spot beside a larger stone.

“Oh dear.” Bilbo said again, gently stroking the velvety warm leaves with a fingertip. It would certainly be easy enough to nip it in the bud like a youthful indiscretion, but the thought never crossed his mind. Unexpected, certainly, but in no way unwelcome.

“How on _earth_ did you happen?” Bilbo mused. They certainly hadn’t been _trying_ for a baby.

Well… Dwalin _had_ helped Bilbo dig the earth for the garden – and gone a bit too deep, as evidenced by the stones he’d dug up that now littered the space.

Probably made a Dwarfling sprout feel right at home, all those stones.

And they had fertilized the garden together, too, with Dwalin complaining the whole time about spreading shite on the dirt – nevermind that it was finely aged compost – and _everyone_ knew farmer Maggot’s compost was the most fertile in the Shire. They said it could make _stones_ grow and, well…

But that alone wasn’t _enough_ for a baby to sprout. A good start, but not nearly _enough_.

…though, come to think of it… Bilbo _had_ spread the trimmings of his hair in the garden to discourage rabbits.

And… oh dear… there was that day Dwalin was keeping company while Bilbo was weeding and was sharpening one of his axes and cut himself and there was blood just _everywhere_.

Blood and hair. Normally it was a bit of both from both, and the whole ritual and all but, well, a baby who wanted to grow would find a way.

Bilbo smiled fondly at the little rosette of dark leaves, rooted so heartily in the Shire’s soft soil and the hardness of stone.

Still, that shouldn’t have been _enough_ , there had to be.

Oh.

Bilbo could feel himself turning red to the tips of his ears. There was that evening with a bottle of farmer Worrywart’s strawberry wine – so delicious, and famous as a bit of an aphrodisiac – and the soft light of sunset. They’d forgone glasses and were drinking from the bottle, bringing sips to each other’s lips until there was no more wine and they had to seek each other’s mouths for just _one_ more taste of that sweet nectar.

Dwalin’s big hands stripping away Bilbo’s clothes in the growing dusk and his rough-bearded kisses roaming _all_ of Bilbo’s body.

Dwalin’s big cock riding smooth and slick between Bilbo’s thighs and Dwalin’s rough hand so surprisingly gentle on Bilbo’s own cock – gentle but relentless and Dwalin laughing as they both spent themselves.

Oh dear. Right into the garden soil, hadn’t they?

That alone wasn’t _enough_ , but with everything else?

Enough for one very determined little seedling to take root against a stone. They certainly had not been careful – but who would have imagined a _Dwarf_ could seed with a Hobbit? He’d never heard of such a thing.

“Oh dear.” Bilbo sighed, settling back and searching in his pockets for his pipe and pipeweed, “Well here we are, little one. How do you suppose your Dwarf papa is going to take learning the facts of life – Hobbit version?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I give it a 10% chance Dwalin will be gobsmacked and then the most protective daddy ever, sitting out in rain and shine to protect the baby, and a 90% chance he was thumbing through one of Bilbo’s gardening books one day and knew exactly what he was doing. Bilbo will smack him (gently) when he finds out. Then they will both be the most doting daddies in the Shire.)
> 
> (Also, I’m pretty sure the baby is going to be a girl.)


	6. Nori - need to know basis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> katchan00 requested: Nori doesn’t like telling people when his birthday is

See: If you _told_ them, then there was pressure. On them, not to forget. On you, not to forget _theirs_. On them, to _get you something_ even if they might not feel like it.

All those expectations. All that pressure.

If you told them, they might wonder that day on which _year_ and at first Nori didn’t want them to know how young, and then later it was handy for nobody to know how _old_. Very handy.

He could be _any_ age.

And really, if you told them and they _got_ you something then you had to be grateful even if it was shite and you had to remember theirs and get them something that hopefully _wasn’t_ shite.

And if you got them something that wasn’t shite and you told them _yours_ but then they didn’t…

But no. It was just best not to tell.

No pressures. No worries. No expectations.

All mystery and a smile bright as a knife.

“There’s no need for _you_ to know _that_ , now is there darling?”


	7. Bilbo/Bofur b-day smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hobbitkaiju answered: Can I get some Bilbofur? Maybe something from Smoke Sapphire? :D  
> mariejacquelyn answered: Porn. Lots of it. Boffins smut.  
> kalthia answered: Birthday-related smut. ALL the birthday-related smut.
> 
> An attempt was made. It’s a short one though.

It did happen, sometimes, that Bilbo and Bofur were traveling on one of their birthdays. They tried to avoid it, but it happened.

Given that Hobbits _gave_ presents on their birthdays and Dwarves _received_ presents on theirs, they had settled into the happy medium of doing both on both.

It was harder when they were traveling, but they’d made do. Bilbo had been sure to cook Bofur’s favorites, and Bofur had produced a little bag of Old Toby he’d had secreted away somewhere.

All had been good, but then night fell, and the caravan of Men they were traveling with had all fallen asleep, and Bofur had taken a mind to give Bilbo a little _more_.

“Shhh.” he murmured against Bilbo’s ear, lips warm and his mustache tickling. There was a laugh in his voice and Bilbo bit the Dwarf’s hand in its mitt, as much for revenge as to stifle his moans.

…just because Bilbo had been saying something about how naturally quiet Hobbits were, as opposed to loud tromping Dwarves. This _wasn’t_ what he’d meant and Bofur _knew_ it. He’d like to see _anyone_ stay silent while Bofur…

He bit Bofur’s hand again as the Dwarf shifted his hips, pressing his cock just _that_ much deeper into Bilbo – so big and so perfect it almost hurt.

“Shhh.” Bofur reminded again, slow shallow thrusts with his hips so Bilbo was never _not_ full. Bilbo whimpered. He swallowed most of it down and the rest he buried in the blankets of their bedroll, and Bofur stilled.

“Too much?” he whispered.

Bilbo shoved back against him, grinding him in harder.

“ _More_ …” he breathed, and the air of Bofur’s silent chuckle breathed against the side of his neck as the Dwarf picked his pace up again.

It would kill him. It would _kill_ Bilbo to remain silent.

But he would _die_ if Bofur stopped now.


	8. Oin/Bifur, blatant flirting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> werpiper prompted: Bifur/Oin - iglishmek flirting outrageously in front of people who don’t notice anything at all.

“Eh? What’s that? Speak up laddie, did no one teach you to enunciate?” Oin asked, louder than he knew was necessary. The Man seemed determined did not take the hint, though. He continued speaking on, voice barbling like stones in a stream. Oin had no chance of picking it up, even with his ear trumpet. Oin glanced to Bifur, but he was not signing anything. He would if it were something important.

Finally Bifur’d had enough. He stood and unleashed a gruff stream of Khuzdul, his voice deep and rough, far more melodious to Oin’s ears even if the only words he could pick out individually were ‘dog’s droppings’. Bifur took a menacing step forward, and the Man fled.

“ _Finally_ ,” Oin signed. “ _What a waste of time, what did he want?_ ”

“ _Nothing worth our time_ ,” Bifur signed back, “ _He didn’t even try to flirt with you – and with how fine your beard is today! He should be ashamed of himself._ ”

Oin petted the upturned ends of his braids proudly, smiling back. “ _Nothing compared to yours, I’m afraid. Now where were we_?”

“ _We were discussing how sweetly you will be crying out when I tup you later,_ ” Bifur signed, chuckling into his beard as he picked his ale up to take a swig, eyes dancing.

“ _Are you sure? I was certain we were discussing how beautifully you moan when you’re riding my cock. You do know it’s the exact pitch I can actually hear? You wouldn’t deprive an old Dwarf of his one joy, would you?”_

 

 

The barmaid sighed as the Dwarves left their payment in small coins on their table and left again. Such strange things, stranger than most of their kind, even. They came in at least once a week, drank, and left again. They never spoke to anyone or even to each other. Not that they’d get far, with one unable to speak and the other unable to hear.

“Just makes you sad, don’t it?” she commented to one of her regulars. “Poor old dears, they must be so lonely…”


	9. Bilbo/Bofur, birthday gone awry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My birthday is going very well - so have a story of one gone a bit awry.
> 
> mirkwood-spider-express prompted: Singing off tune, and a food fight with the cake? <3 And braiding pink gift ribbons in somebody’s hair…..

Well, this was a fine mess.

Bilbo sighed as he looked over the wreckage. There were bits of birthday cake everywhere – testament to the exuberance of the food-fight that had broken out. There was broken furniture and broken ale casks to illustrate the matching exuberance of the brawl that followed the food-fight. The casks, at least, had been emptied before they were broken. Not so of all the chairs.

If he were dealing with Hobbits, Bilbo would have expected to find a few of _them_ broken too. Strike that. If he were dealing with _Hobbits_ , nothing so uncivilized as this would have ever happened.

Sheltered behind the barricade of half a table, Bilbo found the source of the off-tune singing  among the contented snores. Bofur was well and truly sauced to lose the tune. Bofur blinked at Bilbo several times before he grinned, recognizing him.

“What have you done, you ridiculous Dwarf?” Bilbo asked, hands on his hips.

Bofur laughed. “I was victorious! In a great and wonderful battle!”

“The battle against good sense, maybe,” Bilbo huffed. Bofur was unfazed. He grabbed Bilbo’s hand and tugged him down with surprising strength to sit with him in his makeshift barricade.

“I have… a secret stash,” He confided in a loud whisper, drawing out a half-empty bottle of wine. Bilbo _most certainly_ had not brought that out for the party. One of them must have pilfered it from his pantry, of all the cheek! Some things never changed.

“Give me that, you’ve had more than enough.” Bilbo snatched it out of Bofur’s hand and took a drink himself to keep it from him. It was a sweet red, just the thing to settle his nerves. Bofur was still cheerful, always a very cheerful drunk. He started his song again, something about a lover as beautiful as opals.

“I hope you lot know you’ll be spending the entire rest of your visit repairing all the things you’ve broken,” Bilbo informed Bofur. Bofur didn’t stop his singing. He tugged at a bit of Bilbo’s hair and… ah. He was braiding pink gift ribbons into Bilbo’s hair. Of course. Bilbo sighed and had another swig of wine from the bottle. What else could you expect, inviting Dwarves to a birthday party?

He wouldn’t have it any other way.


	10. Bilbo/Bifur, hound dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next birthday present is for @fanficisalegitimatefieldofstudy, who requested Bilbo/Bifur getting a puppy.
> 
> I’m afraid I went a little off prompt, but I hope you enjoy it!

Bifur had always had dogs, before. It took Bilbo a while to notice, but once he did he didn’t know how he hadn’t realized it sooner. There was no picture of Bifur as a young man where he _didn’t_ have a dog with him. And he got so wistful around dogs, hounds in particular.

Bifur had been a dog trainer, and a bloodhound breeder. He still helped train dogs for his close family, but he didn’t own any himself. Hadn’t, since the accident.

“It was a sad thing, broke his heart,” Bofur said, when Bilbo was trying to circumspectly figure out why. “He lost his dogs, every last one. He couldn’t take care of even himself, right after. We found good homes for the dogs, but we couldn’t keep any of them ourselves. Money was too tight. He hasn’t owned one since.”

That just wasn’t right and Bilbo’s plan coalesced in his mind. Bifur hadn’t been able to take care of a dog back then, or on his own, but he _wasn’t_ on his own anymore. He had Bilbo to help out, if there were days when a dog’s needs were too much.

It took a lot of research to find the right breeder – working bloodhounds, not show dogs – one with an impeccable reputation for treating the dogs right, who had a litter on the way. Bilbo smiled to himself as he paid the deposit for a puppy. He could just see Bifur with a hound at his side as he tromped happily through the woods, like he’d used to. It wasn’t something that was denied him anymore.

When the puppies were finally ready to meet people, Bilbo drove Bifur out to see them. Bifur’s entire face lit up when he saw the puppies, and even brighter when Bilbo explained that they could choose one to take home. Bifur climbed into the playpen that had been set up, sitting cross-legged in there with the puppies. He played with them, one and then another. Some were bold and some were shy, and Bilbo smiled as Bifur got to know them.

“Wonderful dogs,” Bifur signed, when he was finally done and climbed out. Bilbo translated for him, a brief conversation between Bifur and June the breeder about the dogs bloodlines and their parents temperaments. June invited them in to the kitchen for a drink of water while the puppies were put back with their mother. Bifur lost all interest in conversation when he saw an adult dog curled up on a cushion in the kitchen. He immediately went and knelt by her, letting her sniff his hand and petting her when she thumped her tail on the floor.

“That’s Mistletoe,” June said. “She’s a sweetheart, but the buyer returned her. Gunshy, and he wanted a hunting dog. You know we take back any dog we sell, for any reason. They’ve always got a home.”

“One of mine,” Bifur signed. There were tears in his eyes.

“He says she’s one of his?” Bilbo translated. “He used to be a breeder. But she’s far too young, Bifur. She was born here.”

“I’ve got her pedigree.” June went for a drawer, returning with a piece of paper, which she handed to Bifur.

Bifur traced it up, found a name and tapped it insistently. “Mine,” he said aloud. Mistletoe’s grandmother was one of his dogs. One he’d lost.

“This one,” Bifur signed. “I choose this one. Bilbo, _please_.”

“I know we paid a deposit for a puppy,” Bilbo said. “But is there any chance we could switch? Is Mistletoe available?”

June smiled, “Placing the older dogs is so much harder than finding homes for puppies. She’s well trained, spayed, good with people and other dogs. If she can finally have the home she deserves…. I’d let you take her home today.”

“I think we might have to do just that,” Bilbo said mildly. Bifur was now laying down on the floor, and Mistletoe had squirmed into his arms to be held.

It didn’t look like he was going to let go any time soon.


	11. Dori/Balin - before the dragon, and years after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Up next, @cohobbitation requested some Dori/Balin, meeting before the dragon and then years later.

“Enchanted,” Balin breathed, bowing deeply over Dori’s perfumed hand to press a kiss to it. Of course he knew of Dori – solid beautiful Dori, born with hair as white as mithril, as poised as though he were carved of marble. He was seen on the arms of the most influential of senators and the most powerful nobles, his elegant presence absolutely required at the highest of court functions. Balin knew of Dori, had seen him on multiple occasions, but had never been introduced before.

There was a faint smile on Dori’s lips when Balin straightened. “The pleasure is mine,” Dori said. “Your reputation precedes you – already on the Crown Prince’s council, at your age.”

“I serve where I can,” Balin said, though he could not help the bubbling through him at the knowledge that _the Dori_ knew of him.

Theirs was not a long meeting, soon the matron Dori was accompanying saw another friend and Dori escorted her away. He did glance back, though, his gleaming gray eyes catching Balin’s for just an instant before he swept away.

Already then, Balin was lost to him.

.

There were no shortage of Dwarves in love with Dori. Balin knew that, but it did not make his own heart burn any less brightly. They met more often, after that first brush together. It was like a dance, Dori on a different arm every time with his eyes smiling at Balin. Together and apart, together and apart, but closer this time. Dori touched Balin’s shoulder and leaned in close when he had something to say. His insights into the intrigues of the court were brilliant, his whit cutting when he chose to employ it to make Balin laugh. Dori’s laughter was wonderful, when Balin could make him laugh in turn with sharp observations of his own.

Apart, with Dori on another arm.

Together, with Dori sitting at Balin’s elbow at banquet. He gave his patron of the hour the greater share of his attention, but when his companion was engaged in conversation elsewhere Dori’s eyes turned to Balin.

Apart, with Dori swept up into the circles of the most powerful.

Together, a chance meeting in a quiet corridor that might not have been chance. That could have been intentional on Dori’s part. Dori’s smile, his touch on Balin’s shoulder urging him to linger rather than hurry on to his next appointment.

“I must know,” Balin begged, kissing the backs of Dori’s hands, both of them, in the quiet alcove they’d secreted themselves in. “I must know if this is real, if you could ever feel for me as I feel for you.”

“I could not give up my career,” Dori whispered back. “You must not ask it of me.”

“I could not any more than I could give up my own political ambitions,” Balin promised. “I do not need all of you, so long as some part of you could be mine.”

Dori’s lip trembled, and wrapped his sturdy arms around Balin’s neck to kiss him. “You already have a part of my heart,” he promised.

“Will you dine with me?” Balin asked. “I would give you the best food of my family’s table, the finest drink of our cellars.”

“I have no engagements at week’s end,” Dori offered, cheeks pink.

“Then I will prepare the best for you,” Balin said, utterly heartfelt, holding both of Dori’s hands tight. There was a sound, someone else in the corridor, and they drifted apart.

“I would not miss it for the world,” Dori promised, a whisper in Balin’s ear before they parted.

.

Before then, there was a dragon.

.

“Dori…” Balin breathed. He had been directed to this tinker’s shop, supposedly the finest in Ered Luin. The last person he had ever expected to see was Dori, the flame of his youth.

Dori looked up sharply, his eyes widening. He was worn and tired, the threadbare clothes beneath his sturdy work apron were a world away from the rich crushed velvets and silks of his courtesan days. He glanced down at himself, almost in shame before he lifted his head high. Even now his braids were perfect, and there was more than a little of his old poise in how he held himself.

“Master Balin,” he greeted, quietly.

Balin reached for Dori’s hand, bowed over it to kiss it. Once it had been soft, perfumed and adorned in jewels. Now it was toughened and scarred, but still beautiful. If anything, Dori had aged to even finer beauty through the years of hardship – solid strength through every line of him.

“I never thought I would see you again,” Balin said.

“I’m just a tinker, now.” Dori gestured to his small but well-organized shop.

“And I’m just a wandering scribe, in desperate need of repairs to his lap desk,” Balin answered. He shrugged the strap of it off his shoulder, held it out to Dori. “The hinges were Man-made, and they’ve gone to rust. I heard this was the best tinker shop in Ered Luin.”

Dori was all business. He took a careful look at the make of the folding lap desk, and sorted through his drawers for replacement hinges and screw. The old rusty ones he kept, likely for either materials or to be repaired and used for some other project.

There was a basket on the floor beside Dori’s workbench, and he rocked it with one foot as he worked. There was a babe in it, small but bright-eyed and content.

“The child, are they…” Balin began delicately, then stopped.

“My brother,” Dori finished for him, smiling down at the baby. “I watch him for our mother, some days. It’s easier to watch him here than in the weaver’s workshop.”

“What a good brother.” Balin smiled, surprised at how sharp his relief was that the child wasn’t Dori’s – that Dori still seemed to be unattached. He certainly wore no marriage braids or courting beads.

“I try,” Dori said. “That’s all any of us can do, these days. Try.”

Balin agreed, and he paid his due willingly when Dori gave him back a lap desk that worked better than it ever had new. He lingered, though, once that was over.

“Once, I invited you to dinner,” he said.

“You did,” Dori agreed. “Once, I agreed to it gladly.”

“My house’s finest is not so fine these days,” Balin said, “but I would still offer it to you, if you will join me.”

Dori looked at him, for a long moment. Their political aspirations were broken, their families scraping by, but they were still the same Dwarves. Balin still felt that pull toward Dori. Dori glanced down at the baby, and then back up to Balin with a small smile.

“I would like that,” he said. “I have no engagements at week’s end?”


	12. Ur cousins piggyback rides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> braidedribbon requested piggyback rides because someone injured their leg.

The first time Bifur took Bofur on one of his hunting trips, Bofur was determined not to slow him down. He’d been begging to come with Bifur for at least a decade, and he didn’t want to judged as still too young now that Bifur had finally relented.

The day was hot and hazy outside the mountain, the sun bright. They had a long hike to get to Bifur’s hunting camp. Hiking through the woods up on the surface was much different from being under the mountain, or even on roads on the surface. Bofur watched how Bifur moved, how he kept his balance even on the slipperiest of mossy rocks and logs, and tried to copy him. It was more tiring than it looked, but Bifur tromped on unwinded. Bifur _was_ the best hunter in the Blue Mountains. Bofur was even prouder to be Bifur’s cousin than ever, and that he got to come with him hunting, even though he was tired.

Bifur was leading them down a slope and over a pile of fallen trees, when Bofur’s boot slipped on the moss. He went down hard, his leg trapped beneath the trees and his body going the other direction. There was a stab of fire, an awful tearing feeling, and Bofur screamed as he fell.

Bifur was there immediately, bounding back up to Bofur. He cursed breathlessly into his beard, but his hands were gentle as he lifted Bofur up and out of the fallen trees.

“I’m fine,” Bofur promised, scrubbing the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m fine, put me down.” But when Bifur put him down, the moment Bofur tried to put any weight on his knee, he almost fell over again from the pain.

“Torn something,” Bifur signed, once he’d looked the leg over to make sure it was unbroken. “Will have to return to the mountain.” He hoisted Bofur onto his back to carry him, the same way he would have when Bofur was a baby still.

They were heading back home now, after only a few hours out and not having gotten anywhere near their camp, because Bofur had slipped. They were returning home empty-handed because of Bofur.

Bofur tried not to cry into Bifur’s coarse hair, but he didn’t succeed at that either.

“It hurts?” Bifur asked.

“No,” Bofur said. “I mean, yes it does but that’s fine… I’m _so sorry_ I got hurt and messed everything up! And now you have to carry me like dead weight.”

Bifur bounced Bofur a bit, like he was a toddler in need of soothing. “Lighter than a deer,” he said. “Lighter than a boar. More precious than both.”

There was nothing Bofur could say in answer to that, and it did help at least a little. He focused on being a well-balanced pack and not too difficult to carry. Bifur was strong enough to carry Bofur at nearly the same speed he’d walked unencumbered, so they made good time back toward the entrance of the mountain.

Bifur didn’t take them _directly_ back, though. He took a side trip, off to a meadow, and set Bofur down beside a thick patch of thornbushes.

“We hunt,” Bifur signed, smiling as he lifted the leaves to show that the bushes were heavy with blackberries beneath. “Easier prey, and delicious. We do not go empty handed.”

This Bofur could still help with, even without being able to walk. Together they gathered up a heavy harvest of berries, and Bifur carried Bofur triumphantly home with them.


End file.
